Aside from a few alf patrols from the local tribe that Flynn had given a wide berth - he would risk no chance of another incident that saddled him with more alves - there was little else of note to mark the rest of their trek. Day’s last light had faded into the horizon by the time they'd arrived at a good spot to shelter for the night.
They would’ve arrived sooner, but they'd been delayed by maybe the politest argument that he’d ever seen. Alsias and Silthius had differing opinions about the best possible place to camp. Alsias had referred to the map, but Silthius had argued that he knew the land better, as even though they’d left Ozana territory, they were still near enough that he’d walked these paths before.
In the end, the decision had fallen to Flynn, and he’d deferred to Silthius. The map was good, but personal knowledge carried more weight in his eyes. Alsias had accepted his judgement cooly, but he’d still noticed the warrior shoot Silthus a poorly veiled glare every now and then.
He knew the sign of brewing tensions when he saw it, despite their best attempts to hide it from him. Flynn hoped that time and exposure would wear away at their rivalry, because he hated getting in the middle of social drama like that. There’d been a reason why he’d only bothered to make one friend – one former friend now – in school.
The spot itself wasn’t as comfortable as their little nooks from the previous night had been. The mushrooms in this part of the forest were smaller, and less numerous. They shared sovereignty over the ground with jagged bone-white outcroppings of varied size that jutted from the flesh.
It was within a ring of those bony spurs, each at least twelve feet tall, that they made their camp. Dinner was about as amiable as lunch had been, and at some point, Lenny had convinced the group to join him in singing a hymn. Flynn didn’t miss the sly little glance the elder had shot his way before the start, and though he hadn’t joined in, he’d still enjoyed the music of the alf. It was a sad little number, the notes long and distant, and the words even more so. At the end, he’d asked the priest what the song had meant, which might’ve been exactly what the little bugger had wanted. Still, he’d been curious.
The alf had said that they no longer remembered the meaning, but the most accepted answer amongst the priesthood was that it was a lament for their lost homeland – a distant world across the stars. It had been ravaged by a great disaster, or so claimed the old stories, and it was only by Siestemi’s mercy that they were saved.
‘Stars, huh.’ Gazing up, Flynn saw no twinkling lights littering the blanket of black above them. Not even a moon. Just an evenly spread ambient glow that kept the night from being pitch-black. He was reminded of the boss for some reason.
Another strange monster that’d lamented the loss of its home to an unknown danger. Here, the same story was repeated, though perhaps with a mildly happier ending. The alves had grown to accept their new home. Maybe even love it. But the boss...
Grief was a powerful thing.
Was there a connection?
Flynn felt it in his bones that there was, but he hadn’t the clues or the means to dig any further, so he put it out of his mind for the time being.
It wasn’t long before everyone turned in for the night. Flynn, unlike his norm, decided to camp with the group rather than by his lonesome. Unlike the nook, the forest here felt far too exposed for his tastes, even with Cheek around to keep watch. Besides, the group had earned at least that much trust from him after two days of travel.
Flynn still camped slightly apart from the rest, and if any of them took notice, they never mentioned it. Silthius asked permission to set up a night watch as they settled in. Flynn pointed to Cheek who gave the alf a questioning poke, offended that its ability was put in question. The warrior apologized but did not back down. They were close enough to the middle domain that the more dangerous sorts of monsters would be out and about, he had explained. The warrior didn't need to bring up the encounter with the taken-beasts to cement his point.
The more eyes on watch, the better.
Flynn agreed, and to no one’s surprise, Alsias was the first to offer himself for the 'honour’ of keeping watch. To everyone’s surprise, Mielvieu too rose to throw his metaphorical hat in the ring. The elder claimed that he found sleep hard coming on the hard ground, so he’d be up anyway.
There was some push-back by the younger warriors, and eventually Flynn had to step in. Alsias and Silthius would take first watch together, he decided, and maybe forcing them to work together would create the spark of friendship between the two lunk-heads. Osiar and Evie, two of Silthius’s troop, would take second watch, and then Flynn would take up the post with Mielvieu. All seventeen of them had argued against their master taking up watch, but he would not be dissuaded. Not like he had any easy time sleeping on the hard ground than they did.
With the matter settled, everyone made themselves as comfortable as they could and settled in for the night. Flynn tossed and turned but eventually drifted off to sleep.
◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆
Flynn dreamt of a voice. It was a soft thing. Distorted, as if it were underwater. The room around him was smoky. Incorporeal. But the emotion in the voice’s tone was as solid as matter. He felt it like a touch against his soul, pushing, trying to make him understand.
He couldn’t, but it kept trying again and again and again. It was relentless. It had to make itself known. To be understood.
Flynn wasn’t sure how long he drifted in that room, listening but never truly understanding. He was close to giving up. To fading away when a moment of clarity washed over him like a spring rain, and then he heard her properly for the first time. A beautiful whisper of a voice, and she beckoned him.
‘Wake up.’
And so, he did.
Flynn’s eyes fluttered open, all traces of sleep lost to the strange dream, and he immediately knew that something was terribly wrong. His Monster Senses tingled, but that’d been the case since he’d surrounded himself with the alves. But this was different. Felt different. Cheek hovered by his side, and the construct shot him a curious look. He probed it, and it responded with a feeling of calm.
All clear was the message. Flynn wasn’t so easily convinced. Something was up.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
His gaze swept across the dark forest towards where he felt a new presence lurk. He narrowed his eyes, glancing past the still slumbering forms of his group, and towards the edge of their ring. There, well concealed by the darkness, was a figure. It took him a second to peer through the shadows to see Osiar gurgling rivulets of blood, eyes wide as thick jaws littered with fungal sprouts clamped around his neck. Evie laid dead next to him.
Flynn felt his blood turn cold, his mind momentarily turned blank before reality came crashing back with the weight of a single word. “Attack!” he roared as loudly as he could. He did not wait to see the others rise. His hands found his bow with practiced ease and an arrow was sent sailing in a second’s span. It found its mark through the monster’s eye socket, and it fell dead immediately.
The youth’s eyes lingered on the corpses of the two alves beside it for a moment longer, and a jolt of something unpleasant coursed through him before he turned away. The danger hadn’t passed just yet. He sensed more unknown presences openly running towards them, all pretence of stealth discarded. How many? He stressed his senses to their limit. Twenty? Twenty-five? Thirty, with more running into range with every passing second.
It was a fucking ambush, and they’d come prepared.
He grimaced. The numbers weren’t that bad. He’d faced worse odds against the shitlings, but his situation was different here. He couldn’t run and gun. He had people he needed to protect from being butchered to bits.
Flynn swore and mustered a Spectacle Arrow. A gout of flame erupted ahead of where the thickest group of monsters sped towards them, scaring the wretches away. It bought him some time, but he doubted that would keep them away for long. Something about this attack stank of more than just a pack of beasts seeking an easy meal.
It felt premediated, but that was a problem to ponder after he’d won. Flynn surveyed the alves. They were all up on their feet, spears and bows in hand for the warriors, and short-knives for the elders. Flynn quickly sprinted towards them.
“They’re all around us! More than thirty of the same things that’d attacked you guys before!”
Grim faces met him at the declaration. “Taken-beasts.” spat Silthius.
Oh, they’d be taken alright, Flynn promised. Taken straight to hell.
“Warriors, keep the elders safe!” he bellowed. “I’ll try and hold off as many of them as I can! And no, none of you are allowed to help me! That means you Alsias! I command you all to stay here!”
The alf gaped, his request declined before he’d even had a chance to voice it. Flynn wasted no more time with the group. He dashed into the thick of things. Already, he felt the creatures closing in. Flynn mustered five Illusionary Selves and sent them out towards the beasts. It’d keep the creatures distracted for a while, at least. Two more Spectacle Arrows bloomed, creating two more swells of fire all around them.
The light from the flames was blinding in the dark of night, and that’d been exactly his intention. The creatures shrieked at the tongues of fire inching towards them, but Flynn didn’t need his eyes. His Monster Sense picked them apart with ease. His arrows went flying, each shot claiming a monstrous life. Within seconds he’d killed five of them, but just as many more sprouted within the range of his Monster Sense. He swore.
It was endless. A smile crept through his lips. One of the creatures leapt through the fire. He wasn’t sure if it’d been smart enough to realize the falsehood or daring enough not to care, but it died all the same. Another meandered its way through the gaps between the illusions, but Cheek was there to put it down with two arrows through the skull.
The others had started to push through the fire, no longer afraid. He scowled. They were too quick on the uptake. An arrow cut through the neck of one of the things that’d crept all too close, their sheer mass of numbers pushing the boundary of their assault closer and closer.
More arrows flew, and three more monsters died. Flynn felt a group treading around him, towards the alves. He commanded Cheek to block them off, and the construct eagerly did as bid.
The seconds turned to minutes as he lost himself to the heat of combat. Arrows flew endlessly from his fingers, and his feet sang as he danced around in a constant blur of motion. He was constantly pushing against the beast-tide, moving here and there wherever they swelled forth. For the most part he was keeping them away, but the damn things were relentless, and he knew that it was just a matter of time until they got through.
He needed to create an escape for the others. A Veiled Arrow was loosed into the thick of a group, and the powerful shot cut through three monsters in a row before it was stopped, the others scattering as a shower of illusions tore apart their charge.
A jagged wall of ice from Cheek blocked off the advance of another group, though the damn things kept going anyway. The illusions weren’t working on them anymore. They were too canny. Too ferocious. It was all he could do to keep stripping away at their mass.
His eyes snapped around his surroundings seeking an opportunity for escape even as he downed another taken-beast. He saw none. He could think of none. He grit his teeth. A monster leapt at him, and he roared in rage, his bow abandoned for a moment in favour of a solid punch. His fist connected with the thing’s face, and he felt bone crunch under the weight of twenty-nine points worth of strength.
The corpse was sent tumbling away before an arrow lodged itself down the throat of another. Flynn sucked in a breath, took aim and readied to cut down another beast when a scream stole away his attention. It’d been Silthius. Flynn gathered himself a second before the monster was on him, and his arrow tore a bloody hole in its throat just in time. He threw himself aside, allowing the corpse’s momentum to ragdoll it against the ground he’d just been stood on before he turned towards the alves.
The monsters had gotten through. The warriors stood in a shield-wall in front of the elders, their spears thrusting out to desperately keep them away. A Veiled Arrow cut through four of the assaulters in a single shot, whilst forcing the others to backtrack, but that was all the aid he could provide before more of the things converged on his own position.
A short distance away, he felt Cheek grow steadily overwhelmed by the sheer mass of foes. His Monster Sense was a foghorn of incoming presences, though a ray of hope laid beyond the gloom. He felt no more of their number popping up at the edges of his sensory radius.
The tide was over. He just had to cut down the ones that were left. And quick.
Easier said than done, but Flynn had no time for thoughts or doubts. Lives depended on him.
His arrow cut through two monsters at once, his bow already in motion before their corpses had even fallen. His body became a vessel of slaughter, a factory of death. Draw, aim, loose, repeat. Four words became his mantra of being. He allowed his senses to be his only distraction, guiding him where he needed to be to slay the most beasts.
It was all on him.
He couldn’t afford to slow. To tire. To stop.
Draw, aim, loose.
Draw, aim, loose.
Draw, aim, loose.
He wasn’t sure how long had passed before he drew, took aim and finally found no monster to loose his arrow at. Flynn stopped only then, his breath heavy and his limbs burning with mana scarcity. Corpses decorated every inch of the forest floor, arrow-riddled flesh sprouting like some macabre underbrush everywhere he looked.
You have earned a level
10 >> 11
Your spell has ranked up
Monster Sense: 1 >> 2
Monster Sense
Trait Spell - Rank 2
?
Passively detect the presence of monsters within a fifty-meter radius.
He hardly had the mind to care for either level-up. His hands shook as he released hold of the drawstring, rivulets of sweat trickling down his face in long streams. His throat was painfully dry, and it was all he could do to try and blink away the haze of his focus. It took him a moment, and only then did he remember to look to the alves. He found them huddled in a ring.
A broken ring. Monstrous corpses surrounded them, some with spears jutting out of their faces, but mingled amongst them were...
Flynn grit his teeth.
Ohsthius.
